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Fayrouz Fouad Poem
"Is it better to speak or to die?!"
You speak of my future,
Dismissing my nature.
Yet, just for your suture
But what of the life I capture?
I continue to elaborate,
Still, you dominate.
The emotions I demonstrate,
You find ways to understate.
Can you hear my breakout,
Or do I have to shout?!
Right — to you I merely spout.
Will you listen when I’m snuffed out?
Officially, I can’t hear nature,
Not when you're an oppressive creature.
Will you ever nurture,
Before I make my departure?
Copyright © Fayrouz Fouad | Year Posted 2026
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Fayrouz Fouad Poem
“Is it better to speak or to die?”
What does speaking bring you,
No matter how hard you try to reply?
Behavior you attempt to justify,
Truth you struggle to clarify—
You only meet an apathetic look.
To them, your life’s a fairytale in a book.
Actions speak louder than words, they say,
But when the action is dying,
It’s no longer seen as trying.
Every elaboration you’re supplying
Leaves your restless mind frying,
Yet in their eyes, you’re just lazy,
And the point remains hazy.
With the clouded board,
How can the dart be thrown?
Thus, the stance stays the same,
No matter the shame you’ve known.
Speaking drops you to the ground,
And your corpse lingers all around.
Does it take two burnt minds to relate
Just to get a single point straight?
Copyright © Fayrouz Fouad | Year Posted 2026
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Fayrouz Fouad Poem
Losing the battle,
A mind full of rattle,
Yet there's no way out.
Half full of ambition,
Half seeking the vision,
Still, somehow aligned.
Thoughts stir in a pot,
While I sit in the same spot,
Can you turn down the heat? It's starting to burn.
One side aims to be superior,
The other thinks she's inferior,
Please, stop the contrast.
I can't keep up, I'm not that fast.
One half wants to be the best,
The other just craves rest,
Why must there be two hemispheres?
How can a child so calm, so wise,
Grow into chaos, truth in disguise?
The change was unforeseen,
As is the path of this young teen.
Copyright © Fayrouz Fouad | Year Posted 2026
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Fayrouz Fouad Poem
I'm an analyst
a strategist
an execution machine
in a singular mind seen
with memories of being keen
I give something my whole heart
then get it back torn apart
repeat the cycle again
till I'm left with shattered remains
trying my hardest to stay sane
Shouldn’t a vehicle move straight ahead,
unless it makes a U-turn instead?
Why in mine I’m blindly led,
leaving me to burn,
no brakes to halt or learn?
In this moment, I’m a fern
trapped in a sunlit meadow—no return
Even a robot needs to reset
so it can preset.
When I try to slow and reset,
I get haunted by regret,
as if I’m drowning in debt.
Copyright © Fayrouz Fouad | Year Posted 2026
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Fayrouz Fouad Poem
smiles drawn in red
joy sprinkled, jokes spread
no one left guilt-fed
road wide ahead
minutes pass with the wind
a dream with no end?
fictions created in the mind
an awful ache that grinds the mind
a fever dream she sees
she can feel the breeze
yet it causes her to freeze
held back by dark beliefs
from the dark she’s almost blind
till a violent flare of some kind
twists the signals in her mind
her fever dream refined
red, as in blood, is treading
stares burning, gossip spreading
the terror and guilt she’s dreading
is where she’s heading
with no brakes to stop her sledding
Copyright © Fayrouz Fouad | Year Posted 2026
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Fayrouz Fouad Poem
My health feels tattooed into my skin,
absorbed by my blood,
never failing to haunt my thoughts.
He’s always there—
in the background or up close,
still in the picture.
He doesn’t talk all the time,
But his silence isn’t the cure.
He screams during quietness,
digs into my brain like a gravedigger.
I don’t know when I’ll be buried,
but I know he dug deep.
His scream—
a siren—
doesn’t turn off, even after obeying.
He’s not that big.
Just a baby.
But he was granted authority early on.
And I keep sinking
into the hole he dug,
where no rope reaches,
and the dark learns my name.
Copyright © Fayrouz Fouad | Year Posted 2026
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Fayrouz Fouad Poem
Every time the mind has an intention,
The body sends back a rejection.
Shouldn’t there be a connection?
Why dwell in a different dimension?
It’s not a split mind anymore —
Just a corpse trying to restore,
Clutching what’s left of its core,
After everything wore.
It’s not a disaster, after all.
I only need to stand tall,
And silence every recall —
The echoes of my fall.
I know I’m young,
Yet the sorrow still stung.
As breath in my lungs hung
Will I ever stop being high-strung,
And lower the nerve clung?
Copyright © Fayrouz Fouad | Year Posted 2026
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Fayrouz Fouad Poem
I look just like my mother.
Our eyes blend into each other.
I wear her features everywhere.
The more of life I uncover,
The more I see we share the same suffering.
Her blood runs in me,
the way I try to run free.
But I weaponise her blood to flee.
I am her reflection she always sees.
What an honour it is to be like you—
nobility and humility running through.
But don’t forget the last racers too:
agony and weakness, trailing behind us two.
All racers walk the same path,
ending in the same bloodbath,
charging both her and my neuropath.
She’s known for being an empath—
I buried that part in the earth,
afraid of taking the same warpath.
A mirror never lies—
It only reverses what we’re afraid to face.
Copyright © Fayrouz Fouad | Year Posted 2026
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Fayrouz Fouad Poem
Given a name,
gradually, walls start to frame.
On them, a title that’s not her name.
She complains, but holds a faint flame.
Her accomplishments form a ladder,
but to them, it doesn’t matter.
Siblings already broke free,
but she’s just three.
Planned who she’ll be,
and she never dares disagree.
Her trials never succeed,
yet outside, a plant is seen —
how, when she holds the seed?
Siblings grow their fame,
under one roof, but not the same.
She has no ladder to escape,
yet still compared for her different shape.
Copyright © Fayrouz Fouad | Year Posted 2026
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